


The Battle Cry Killed

by snarky_saxophonist



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Chicago Blackhawks, Gen, Injury, Nothing outside the realms of sports injuries but a fairly brutal one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-05 00:43:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12179634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarky_saxophonist/pseuds/snarky_saxophonist
Summary: The Hawks are on the verge of redeeming themselves after two early playoffs exits by winning the Stanley Cup, but the Bruins have no plans to fade quietly into the night.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was mostly inspired by the poem O Captain! My Captain! by Walt Whitman. If you don't know it, go check it out. It's a beautiful poem.
> 
> This is set in the 2018 playoffs, so obviously I have no idea how the season or the lines will play out by then. Warning for a very brief mention of Patrick Kane.
> 
> Disclaimer: this is a fictional story, and is by no means meant to represent something that I think or want to happen. If you are one of the characters mentioned in this story or know them personally, please click out of this right now.

Brent swears under his breath as he climbs back over the boards, pissed off at his inability to score during his shift. They need to win this game, not to allow Boston to regain the momentum and maybe take the series from them. But the Hawks haven't managed a goal since Saad's in the first period, and the Bruins tied it up only minutes ago, three quarters of the way through the third. If the Hawks can manage to pull off a goal some time in the next two minutes, the Cup will be theirs, and Brent wants it so bad he can feel it.

A minute to go, and Jonny's line goes onto the ice. Jonny wins the faceoff, passing quickly to Saader, who ferries it back to Schmaltz. Schmaltz fakes a pass to Saad and drops it back to Duncs, who passes it beautifully up the ice straight to Jonny's tape, who turns and launches it past the desperate Boston defense for the tie breaking goal. 

The horn goes off as the men on the ice mob Jonny and the rest of the team pound their sticks against the boards. 

"Fucking hell yes!" Hartman yells in Brent's ear. "Captain fucking clutch, right there! Our fucking Captain!"

Brent grins at Hartman, too hyped up for words. With thirty-five seconds left, he can taste the win and the Cup within their grasp.

Brent replaces Campbell on the ice for the faceoff. They just have to run out the clock, just another half minute, but judging from Chara's glowers, it'll be quite a fight. However, Jonny's on the ice, and Brent has faith in his Captain to beat anyone. He's never let them down, especially not in a moment like this.

Jonny wins the faceoff yet again, and they're off. The Bruins are hitting them hard right now, desperate and angry, but the Hawks are still managing to keep control of the puck, emboldened by their Captain's goal and the prospect of the Cup being theirs yet again.

They've managed to draw the puck into Boston's zone when Brent has a split second to glance up at the clock. There are four seconds left, and Saad has the puck, and Brent knows he's not going to give it up anytime soon. The Hawks have this in the bag, but just as Brent starts skating towards Saad as the crowd shouts a countdown, he sees Chara plow into Jonny. It's a dirty hit in every way possible. Jonny doesn't have the puck, his back is to Chara, but Chara slams his elbow into Jonny's head as he drives him hard into the boards. Jonny's helmet goes flying off and Chara's weight bears him down headfirst into the boards until the Bruin jerks back. Jonny's too far down to stop his fall at this point, and Brent swears he can hear the sickening thud of Jonny's skull hitting the ice even as the final buzzer sounds and the crowd goes wild. 

Brent hears the noise for only a moment, then everything goes quiet for him as he stares at his fallen Captain. The Bruins are moving back to crowd around their bench, skating unhappily through the victorious Hawks, but Jonny hasn't moved, lying on the ice, cold and still. 

Brent can't make himself move at first, enslaved by the tumult of emotions in his head. They've won the Cup, and he can feel some faint sense of jubilation, but it's swept away by the cold, pressing chill of seeing his Captain lying unmoving. Then thought sets in, and Brent flies across the ice to Jonny, dropping to his knees next to his Captain. His name falls from Brent's lips like a prayer as he reaches for the Captain. He rips off a glove to check for a pulse in Jonny's neck, but his hands are shaking so badly he can't tell. The Cup isn't worth the loss of their Captain, nothing is worth this. Jonny can't be gone, he's their Captain, he's the one who led them here, to this point, and he can't be gone.

There's no screaming and hugging and swarming the Captain like previous Cup wins. The team is all on the ice, but they're huddled silently around their fallen Captain, an impenetrable wall of muscle and bone and fierce love for their Captain.

Duncs is the only one to move into the circle created by the team, kneeling beside Brent and their broken Captain, eyes awash with tears as he makes eye contact with Brent.

Jonny moves beneath his hands, finally, as the trainers reach them at last. 

"Brent?" Jonny mumbles, brown irises almost completely lost to his dilated pupils, but Brent can read the pain and confusion in his Captain's eyes. 

"Stay still, Jonny, you're hurt," Brent manages around the lump in his throat. "You're going to be-" he can't finish the sentence. He can't lie and tell Jonny he's going to be fine because his Captain is still crumpled on the ice, face pale and taut with pain and they don't know if he's going to be alright ever.

"Toews-" the trainer starts, reaching for Jonny's head, but Jonny cuts him off.

"Concussion," he says quietly, the word hanging in the air over the silent circle of ice like an axe. "I know, but... Please, the Cup. One last time. Please, don't make me leave the ice yet."

The words hit Brent like a physical blow, like Chara's blow had hit Jonny, and Brent feels like he's the one gasping for breath on the ice. This can't be the end of their Captain, but his steely determination, the determination that brought them through these battles victorious, is edged with resignation and crippling pain.

The trainer exchanges a look with Q, now on the ice beside them, and finally nods. "The Cup, then we're taking you to the hospital."

The Captain takes a deep breath, determination taking over once more, and looks at his hovering alternates. The pain in his eyes is almost too much for Brent to bear, and he can feel his heart break at the inevitability in the dark gaze. He wants to look away, to cry, to beat his fists against the ice until this goes away, but he knows what his Captain is asking and nothing will ever be too much for Brent to give his Captain. Brent cannot, will not, deny his Captain these last acts, so it is with a shattered, gaping ache of loss in his heart that Brent moves to help his Captain stand on the ice, on what should be the field of his victory and is instead the scene of his, their, greatest loss.

Brent cannot look at Duncs, cannot see the same heartbreak in his eyes that he knows is in his own, can only support his Captain as the broken man skates shakily forwards, into the embrace of his devastated team.

The crowd cheers again now, exulting and shouting for the Captain, the man who has now brought the fabled prize yet again, but the Captain seems oblivious to the crowd, too focused on surviving his own internal battle. The team celebrates, at least by outward appearance, but the embraces are gentle and careful. They are well aware of their broken Captain, and they hold to each other more to glean comfort than to express joy. The façade of celebration ends quickly, Brent and Duncan reading their Captain's flagging strength and doing their best to move the proceedings along rapidly. 

Duncan leaves Brent to support the Captain and goes first in the handshake line, beginning the usual distribution of handshakes and hugs to the opposing players. Brent hangs back to allow the Captain a moment to gather himself enough to skate on his own. The Bruins hold onto Jonny longer than they normally would, helping him to make it from one player to the next without falling. Sincere apologies fall from the lips of every Boston player to the Hawks, as the Bruins too are disgusted by Chara's illegal hit, even as they reel from the pain of losing the Cup. Brent nods numbly at their words, too focused on making sure his Captain remains upright. Duncan waits at the end of the line for the Captain, who leans heavily against him. Brent joins the two of them, holding his Captain up as they slowly skate across the ice towards where the Cup will be presented.

The team slowly begins to gather around them once more as they finish their own handshakes. This is the quietest Brent has ever heard the team following any win, let alone a Cup win, but the Captain's silent agony dictates the team's state. 

Bettman comes out at last, the carpet and table already being set up with the Conn Smythe. The team manages a ragged yet sincere cheer as Saader is announced the winner, the winger skating forward to receive the award. Brent and Duncs are nearly carrying their Captain at this point, and they exchange worried glances. The Captain has to go up alone to receive the Cup, but neither are certain of Jonny's ability to skate over, let alone hold the Cup aloft. 

During Bettman's rambling, awkward speech about the Hawks' season and win, however, Brent can feel the Captain pulling together every last bit of strength within himself for this final battle.

"I can do it," he says under his breath to his alternates, shifting so he's standing under his own power. "Just be there right after." Brent and Duncs let go of him, cheering with the crowd and team as Jonny's name is called.

The Captain skates forward the short distance, slow but steadier than Brent expected. He shakes Bettman's hand, gives the commissioner a flat media smile, and hoists the Cup along with him. Bettman releases the Cup, and it's just the Captain holding it, the ultimate prize lifted above his head. Brent and Duncs skate over to him a moment later, grasping onto the ends of the Cup so the Captain is holding nearly none of its weight. 

They stand there a moment, the Captain and his alternates, Cup above them. Brent is smiling, but it's a brittle, fragile thing that really shouldn't be called a smile. The moment is immortalized by thousands of pictures, covering newspapers and articles and posters, and Brent will never be able to look at the picture without breaking down. Somehow, nobody can see what is all he can see: the desolation and heartbreak bleeding from Duncan and Brent, and from the Captain, agony, utter agony, and the fierce determination of struggling to survive for just a moment longer when it would be easy, so easy, to give in and give up, to allow the pain to engulf everything. 

They hold the Cup for an impossibly long moment, for once Brent wanting nothing more than to get rid of it. He would give up ever touching the Cup, ever winning a game, ever playing hockey again, if it meant Jonny would be okay. Jonny lowers the Cup slightly, pressing his lips to the metal, then takes a deep breath. The three of them skate forward together, passing it to Sharpy to start it moving through the rest of the team. 

"How are you holding up?" Brent murmurs to Jonny, wrapping an arm around again when he seems shaky again. 

"Can we move over closer to the locker room?" Jonny asks, his words slurring slightly. "I'm not sure how much longer I'll be able to stay up."

"We've got you, Captain," Duncan takes his spot on Jonny's other side again, supporting Jonny as they move slowly across the ice. Gradually, the team joins them, subdued at the sight of their Captain leaning heavily on his alternates. The fans are still going wild, enjoying the music and the vibe of winning the championship, lulled into a false sense of security because the Captain appears to be on his feet and functional. 

Finally, the rest of the team is done skating around with the Cup. Brent can tell that even with their support, Jonny is barely staying on his skates. The Cup is handed back to the Captain when they're through with it, who musters up a smile and lifts it again to the roars of the crowd. He manages to move forward, towards the locker room, but once he's out of the crowd's sight, he staggers, the Cup clutched in shaking arms. Duncs takes it from him as Brent and now Sharpy take up positions to help Jonny get safely into the locker room. He all but collapses in front of his stall, dropping his head into his hands and letting out a ragged groan of pain. Duncs sets the Cup on the ground in front of him, backing away slightly to join the rest of the team in their semicircle around him.

The Captain reaches out, brushing his fingers reverently over the coveted prize, then looking up at his silent, concerned teammates.

"I'm not really up for a good post-Cup win speech right now," he starts, dark gaze searing into all of them. "What I really want to say is thank you. You're the best team in the NHL, and I couldn't imagine a better group of guys to win the Cup with. You've worked incredibly hard all season for this win. It's been an honor to serve you all as your Captain this season, and I'll be forever grateful for this. You're all Stanley Cup winners now, and I don't know any group of guys more deserving of it."

Brent chokes back a sob at his Captain's words, the resigned farewell bleeding through every word. He can't speak around the lump in his throat, but Duncs is there, dropping to one knee in front of Jonny.

"No, thank you, Jonny," he says solemnly, looking up at Jonny. "It's been a privilege and an honor to have you as our Captain, and this win is all because of you. Thank you, for shaping us into the team and people we are. Thank you, for carrying us through this season. Thank you, for being the best Captain any of us could ever dream of. Thank you, Captain."

The rest of the team mirrors Duncs' position, kneeling for their Captain, and echoing his thanks. Brent isn't the only one crying, not by far, but he's aware enough to recognize that somehow the press has been kept out of the room and it's just the team, paying a final tribute to their Captain. 

Jonny smiles faintly, tears falling from his own eyes now, and the team sits in silence, mourning a terrible loss together for a minute. Then, proving the formidable strength of body and character that have allowed him to be such a fantastic Captain, Jonny wipes his eyes, climbs to his feet, and reaches for Brent's hand, encouraging him to his feet. The Captain lifts the Stanley Cup one last time, gazing at its hallowed surface before meeting Brent's gaze steadily and passing it to him. Brent nods solemnly, taking the heavy load from his Captain, and watches through a stream of tears as the man walks steadily out of the locker room towards the trainers' room. The room is utterly silent as the closing door echoes behind him for a long moment. Q waits respectfully, then clears his throat.

"This is an unbelievable loss, but you did just win the Stanley Cup. If there's any way possible, Toews will be back out here with you again. Honor all he's done for you by celebrating your achievement."

The team lapses back into silence, wiping their eyes and noses, then all eyes turn to Brent, still holding the Cup. Duncs gives him a heavy look, eyes reminding him of his responsibility to the team.

"We just won the Stanley Cup, boys," he repeats, lifting the Cup above his head. "We won the Cup!"

Patrick Kane whoops, slinging an arm around Brent. "We won the fucking Cup!" The team finally takes this as their cue to enjoy what they've done, hugging each other and cheering. Brent allows somebody to take the Cup from him, meeting Duncs' eyes from across the room. The two alternates couldn't feel less like celebrating, but it's their duty to the team and to their Captain to put on a strong front for the others. 

The press and families are finally allowed into the room, and the champagne flows freely. Underneath everything is a current of devastation, their loss tainting the Cup win. Regardless, it is still a Cup win, and Brent doesn't begrudge them their celebration, despite his own feelings to the contrary.

He and Duncs manage to peripherally participate in the festivities, keeping to the edges of the crowd and sticking together. It works well at first, but their relative isolation means they're easier to corner by the press.

"Congratulations, Brent! How does this fourth Cup win since 2010 feel?" A reporter yells to be heard over the celebrations. 

"It's great," Brent lies, plastering a wide smile onto his face. "This is an incredible team, and winning the Cup is always amazing, and I couldn't have asked for a better group of guys to win it with."

"And what about your Captain's injury in the final seconds of the game?" He asks.

Brent feels his smile slip away. "That was a dirty hit, and I hope the league punishes Chara accordingly. Tazer should be here celebrating with the rest of us right now."

"He seemed to be having some trouble getting around after the game, how badly is he hurt?" The reporter presses on, apparently not comprehending Brent's displeasure at the topic. 

"It was a bad hit, but you'd have to ask the trainers or doctors for their medical opinion," Brent says flatly, turning away from the reporter and plunging into the crowd of players. He meets Crow's gaze, the goalie's expression sympathetic. 

"You can leave, nobody will mind," Crow says, voice barely audible. "We all understand."

"I can't just leave like this," Brent shakes his head. "Everybody's starting to enjoy the win a little, I can't take that away."

"I don't know how much longer I can handle this," Crow admits, "but I can't go out on my own."

"If you want to go, I'll sneak out with you," Brent offers immediately. He feels an obligation to stay with the team, but Crow looks like he's about to fall apart, and Brent won't leave him to deal with this alone.

"Are you sure?" Crow asks hesitantly.

"Yes," Brent says firmly. "Get your gear off and grab your stuff, we'll shower and go."

"Thank you," Crow says gratefully, ducking through the crowd to his locker. Brent turns to his own locker, exchanging an understanding look with Duncs and Sharpy, who take the opportunity to feign boisterous celebration so Brent can take off his skates without being noticed. Those get tossed in his locker, but Brent elects to keep the rest of his gear on to throw in the laundry outside the showers. Shouldering his bag, he bumps hips with Duncs and nods at Sharpy and Saader. Corey has managed to get out of his skates and pads, and is waiting for Brent just outside the door with his own stuff. 

"Have you heard any updates on Jonny yet?" Crow asks anxiously, walking towards the showers.

"I haven't checked my phone yet," Brent replies, pulling it out as they walk. "There's nothing from Jonny or the trainers, but they're probably going to do a bunch of tests and scans to see how bad it is."

"You talked to him, how bad did it seem?" Crow asks, voice tapering off with hesitation. 

"It wasn't... He didn't really say much. But the look in his eyes... I've never seen him like that. He was in so much pain, and it seemed like it was a struggle to just survive through every second," Brent tells him, his voice cracking. "And he could barely stand or skate, Duncs and I were basically holding him up... And you heard the speech, it sounded like..."

"Goodbye," Crow finishes when Brent breaks off, too overcome to finish his sentence. "Jonny..."

"I know," Brent says, squeezing Crow's hand. "I know."

"This wasn't supposed to happen," Crow whispers. "We were supposed to win the Cup, and his career was supposed to outlive mine. He wasn't supposed to have his life destroyed because Chara got angry."

"I know," Brent says raggedly, at a loss. There's nothing he can say that will make this better, no words that will fix Jonny's already battered head and bring him back.

"He said goodbye," Crow reminds him. "And his desperation to stay out with the Cup-don't tell me that had nothing to do with him thinking this would be his last time."

"He said that," Brent admits. "To get them to let him stay on the ice."

Corey takes a shaky breath, sagging against the wall as he drops his bag to the floor. Brent drops his as well, and wraps his goalie in a hug, holding him tightly as he falls apart. He would do the same if not for the need to hold it together long enough to help Crow and make it back home. His wife and kids had been at the game, but they'd agreed beforehand that she would take the kids home and Brent would return there after the celebration. He really wishes his family was there right now, however, because he wants to hold his wife and children and remind himself that the world will still revolve despite the horrific loss of their Captain.

"I'll be okay," Crawford extracts himself from Brent's grip, wiping his eyes. 

"Yeah, you will be," Brent gives him a sad smile. "Come on, let's shower and get out of here, eh?"

"Yeah," Crow agrees. "Thanks, Brent."

"Just doing my job," Brent replies. 

It's not until a few minutes later, with hot water beating down on him and easing sore muscles, that the truth of that statement hits him. With the Captain out, most likely gone, most of this will be his job. He won't have Jonny to fall back on, he and Duncs will have to handle everything on their own. He's never minded the responsibility of the A before, viewing it as an honor, but being an alternate without his Captain is one of the most terrifying things he can imagine. And soon he won't have to imagine it. 

Brent showers more quickly than he normally would, spending just enough time to get rid of the sweat and champagne dried on his skin, suddenly needing to get out of the United Center before he suffocates. 

"Crow? Are you done?" Brent calls to his teammate as he pulls on a pair of jeans. The goalie replies in the affirmative, stepping out a moment later. He looks better, still forlorn but steadier now. "Do you need a ride home?"

"If you don't mind?" Corey asks. "Jonny was supposed to be my ride home since I figured there was a fair chance of me getting drunk."

"Yeah, I've got you," Brent assures him. "Are you sure you want to go home and be alone tonight? You're welcome to crash at my place."

"Your wife won't mind?" Corey asks hesitantly, toweling off his hair and pulling on a clean shirt. 

"She'll understand," Brent says reassuringly, picking up his own bag. "Let me just text her and let her know."

Brent scrolls through his phone, looking through the onslaught of messages. He's pretty sure the entire NHL has texted him, but there's still nothing from any of the trainers or Jonny. His wife had texted, confirming that she and the kids had gotten home and asking after Jonny.

Heading home now, taking Crow with me so he doesn't have to be alone tonight. No news on Jonny yet but it was bad.

Tell Crow of course he's more than welcome. See you soon.

"Alright, let's head out, Dayna's fine with you coming tonight," Brent tells Crow.

"Thanks, I really appreciate it," Corey says earnestly, exhaustion coloring his tone.

"It's no trouble," Brent says honestly, too weary to muster up anything more. "I don't think any of us should be alone tonight."

Crow's expression darkens, and Brent's mind returns to their Captain, likely alone and in the dark as they try to figure out how badly hurt his brain is. Forcibly shoving the images away, Brent reminds himself again that he needs to keep it together for Corey's sake. Wordlessly, he squeezes the goalie's shoulder, hurrying to get to the garage and get away from this. Crow silently falls into step beside him, seemingly understanding Brent's sudden urgency to get out. Brent doesn't talk again until they're out of the United Center, emerging on brightly lit Chicago roads populated with Hawks fans celebrating. Brent has to fight the sudden urge to scream at them, to shout that there's nothing to celebrate, that this isn't a win but a huge loss. 

"It feels so wrong," Corey articulates Brent's feelings. "It feels more like we lost a dozen consecutive Cups, not like we won one."

"We lost more than that," Brent murmurs, speeding slightly to get away from the revelers. Corey's only response is a hitched breath, and when Brent glances over at him, he looks like he's trying not to cry. "You know he'll be back out there with us if there's any way possible," Brent offers, helpless to provide any real comfort to his teammate.

"If it's possible," Corey echoes, voice barely above a whisper. Brent is silent, unsure what to say. He can't make this any better, anything he says will be empty platitudes, and he and Corey both know it. Even seemingly minor head injuries-and Brent knows this one is far from minor-can be devastating, and Jonny's head was already compromised due to his history of concussion. All the odds are against Jonny, and that truth is what weighs heavily on Brent, his knowledge of his Captain's strength doing nothing to ease the fear. He's always had faith in Jonny's ability to return before, his incredible determination and fortitude bringing him through prior obstacles and leaving him stronger for it, but this feels different to Brent. Maybe it's just how defeated his Captain seemed in his final moments, but they feel like just that to Brent: his last moments out there.

"What do we do without him?" Corey asks miserably, voice small.

"We go out to the parade and the rally and honor him for winning this Cup for us," Brent says just as quietly. This win belongs more to Jonny than anyone else, in truth. The Captain had dragged the Hawks through an abysmal first two rounds of the playoffs, scoring nearly all their goals for them and almost always assisting the few that weren't his. It had been his personal best playoff season, and it feels so wrong that it ended so abruptly and horribly for him, minutes after scoring the series-winning goal. "And after that... I don't know. We play hockey."

"Or retire," Crow says, voice barely above a whisper. Brent's grip on the steering wheel tightens as he brakes with a little more force than necessary, coming to a stop in front of a red light. 

"Or you could retire," he says, forcing himself to keep his tone even. He can't entertain the possibility to himself right now, because he has a responsibility to the team as an alternate captain, but he knows playing without their Captain will hurt. Every hit, every block, every goal, every play will remind them of their Captain and their loss.

"You're not going to," Crow says slowly, not really asking.

"I can't, not now," Brent answers anyways. "I owe it to the team and to him to stay, for at least one more season."

"Yeah," Crow agrees quietly.

"Are you?" Brent asks, keeping his tone non-judgmental as he turned onto his street.

"I don't-I can't make that decision now," Corey says, rubbing his eyes. "Right now, I never want to set foot on ice ever again."

"I know," Brent sympathizes. For all that hockey has given them, it's taken so much as well, this most of all.

Crow gives a bitter laugh. "I mean, there's no better way to go out than after winning the Stanley Cup, right?"

"Not like this," Brent mumbles, closing his eyes as he shuts off the car. Images of Chara hitting Jonny play through his mind as soon as he does so, however, so he opens them again quickly. 

"We're not getting him back, are we," Corey whispers miserably.

"I think we've lost our Captain," Brent confirms grimly, the words burning his throat, feeling like a betrayal of Jonny, but bitter with the sting of truth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't leave it like that, so even though I told myself I wouldn't, I wrote a second chapter.

It takes two seasons.

Two seasons of the A feeling heavier than it ever has before, dragging Brent down with it, and the weight bearing on Duncs, too, without their true Captain to lift them through his own strength. The uncertainty adds to the load, forcing the question of their own skill and strength should the Captain never return, further bearing them down into the gaping chasm of loss. Their Captain is gone, and every time they see the letters on their chests they're reminded of that moment, of their Captain lying broken and still on the ice.

Two seasons of shitty losses and shittier wins, and few of those as is. Two seasons of barely managing to maintain a winning record. Two seasons of wins that feel like the opposite and losses that feel fitting. Two seasons of subdued cellys for goals that feel like betrayal. Two seasons of pitying looks from the other teams as often as chirps. Two seasons of a first line that won't score, no matter who is on it. Two seasons of passing to a player who isn't there. Two seasons of waiting for the perfect words to lift them up that will never come. Two seasons of pointed media questions looking for an answer nobody knows. Two seasons of hockey that the haphazard mess of players always immediately wants to forget about. Two seasons of ice that feels utterly wrong and serves as a reminder of what they've all lost.

But it takes two seasons.

 

The third season, the first day of training camp, he's there. He'd been present at a few practices and some games, the past two seasons, but it hadn't been him. It had been a ghost, a void wrapped in the skin of a man who had been their Captain. 

But he's here now. It takes a beat before Brent can truly process the sight of his Captain, _his Captain,_ standing there, smiling for the first time since that day, but now a real smile, an honest smile that reaches his eyes and Brent knows there's only one reason for the Captain to be smiling like that. He's back. There's whooping and shouting and all the veterans are hugging Jonny and each other and celebrating and for the first time in two seasons everything feels right again.

The feeling doesn't go away. Brent keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, because after two seasons it can't be this good this easily, but they dominate in preseason, clicking effortlessly as a team and playing beautiful hockey, bound together and lifted up by the best Captain in the league. Jonny works somehow harder than he ever has before and tears through preseason, and every time Brent looks at him he can see the fierce light in his eyes, joy and pride and determination, all wrapped up in his being as their Captain.

Their first regular season game is against the Blues at the United Center, and the crowd is alive like Brent has never felt before, not even during their three real Cup wins (Brent will never count the fourth, not really, because everything good about it was washed away in a heartbeat and replaced by crippling heartbreak).

Brent grins at Jonny before the game, the A feeling like more of an honor and a privilege and lighter than it ever has before. Jonny, of course, is in Captain Serious mode, but Brent can see the smile in his eyes.

The first goal is flawless. It's like the Blues aren't even there, it's just Jonny, sweeping effortlessly past them to bury the puck in the goal. Brent screams wordlessly in his Captain's ear as the crowd goes wild, whooping and shouting along with Chelsea Dagger. 

The second one is gorgeous, when Brent's pass to Jonny lands perfectly on the tape for just an instant before the puck is flung forward, landing behind the stunned goalie. Brent hasn't felt like this when he's played hockey since that game, not even during preseason with his Captain back, but this is real hockey and his blood is singing and every cell in his body is alive and pumping. He and Jonny crash into each other in celebration, identical smiles lighting up their faces along with the buzzer. 

The third goal is an inevitability. Jonny is playing the best hockey anyone has ever seen from him, and it's only a matter of time before the puck sails over the goalie's outstretched hand, leaving the Blues and the Hawks jubilant as hats and shouts of joy rain down on the ice. It's the first Hawk hat trick since three seasons ago, and it seems impossible that they could have ever thought it wouldn't be his. They traipse back into the locker room, whooping and hollering. Q and Jonny make their customary speeches to not get complacent, they still have forty minutes of hockey to play, they still need to score and stop the Blues from scoring, but not even they can hide their happiness. Brent knows they're going to have no trouble building on their lead and destroying St. Louis, and sure enough, Saader scores off a flawless pass from Jonny 43 seconds into the second period. 

St. Louis starts getting angry, making stupid hits and taking stupid penalties, but try as they might, they can't seem to land a solid hit on Jonny. He's too fast, too quick-thinking, too perfect on the ice right now. The angrier they get about that, the sloppier their playing gets, and it's not long before the Hawks find themselves with a 5-on-3 power play. Jonny scores almost immediately, on yet another beautiful pass, this time from Schmaltz, and if it wasn't over already, the game is done. St. Louis is scrabbling around on the ice, completely ineffective at everything with the dominant force of the Hawks and their restored Captain against them, and Brent will later swear that he doesn't remember the puck ever being in danger of getting near Crow for the entire second half of the game.

They bury Jonny in their celly for his sixth goal, scored with just four seconds left in the game. Brent's crying, and Duncs is crying, and Saader and Panik and Crow and Jonny are crying, and when Brent looks back at the bench, he's pretty sure all of the veterans and nearly all of the rookies are crying too. 

The final score is 7-0, and Jonny got a point on every single goal, six of them belonging to him. It's a double hat trick, and it feels impossible, but it's Jonny, it's their Captain, and it was impossible that he could come back at all, let alone dominate like this, so it's perfectly believable. It's Crow's first shutout since three seasons ago, but Brent can tell his smile is from his Captain's performance tonight, not his own.

There's more crying in the locker room later, and Jonny can't go ten seconds without someone hugging him or whooping and hollering at him. Jonny doesn't even mention anything about how it's only one game, or how they need to keep it up, because he's just as elated as the rest of them. His smile looks like it'll never disappear, like the two years of misery are washed away by the perfection of this night.

 

This time, when they lift the Cup, Jonny holds it aloft as he skates on his own, smile alight in the glow of winning. This time, the picture of the Captain has nothing resembling heartbreak, nothing resembling pain, nothing resembling the need and impossibility of just surviving the moment, just pure happiness.

It's the best thing Brent's ever experienced, because this time, his Captain is exulting with the rest of them in this victory that he's led them to.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Reviews are always appreciated; I love to hear what you all think!


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